I heard their foot running, wild!
Running for a cause, I’m afraid, it was natural,
Some out of joy, and some in fright.
Rather I chose sleeping, till comes my funeral.

Then phone kept buzzing, and sore soul cried,
“Why is she calling?”
Though heart insisted, gaze out for a while,
But I couldn’t, I hated that it was raining.

And, I chose sleeping, till comes my funeral
I wondered, if rain and her call held any bond,
Perhaps, she was weeping, same like mother nature,
She called and called, I gave no response.

May be, Seven Lords were nourishing those tears,
But I too, can’t forgive those pains of mine,
Sooner I picked, but her mother answered,
“If you wish to see, for last, its her  funeral”.

Then I chose sleeping, till comes my funeral.

(01:00)